A Recruits Tales
by N. Kage
Summary: How a boy becomes a Space Marine. Plz review. Chapter 6 is up, far sooner that I expected!
1. Beginning

Right then. I gave up on the last one, it was crap. Check this out. Once again DISCLAIMER okay that's over with.

Jagged fangs, four inches long, snap shut less than an arms length from my face. Snarling a wordless curse at the fang-tooth, I slam my bone knife under its jaw. Everything happens in slow motion, like I was hit in head. Blood, warm and thick, gushes out over my hand. The fang-tooth pulls back, still alive somehow, blood gushing even more, now that the knife is out. The giant animal lunges forward again, this time razor-edged claws flashing out. I dodge left, out of the path of the claws, but the fang-tooth turns in mid-air and manages to graze my arm. This time, I scream in agony, my arm cut to the bone. I spin and ram my knife into its skull, up to the hilt. The knife snaps off in its skull. Growling one last time, the fang-tooth collapses into a pool of its own blood, dead. The slow motion ends and everything jumps back into focus. The endless desert that my people have lived in for centuries, and the still empty water jugs at my feet. I was filling them when the fang-tooth attacked me. Grimacing in pain, I pull a bandage from my belt-pouch and wrap it around my arm, tying it tight to stop the bleeding. Kneeling down, I open up the first water jug and dip into the tiny trickle of water, coming out of the sheer rock face.

"Kouri, did you get the water?" My father, Joresh, calls at me, from his position inside our family's tent.

"Working on it," I call back. Today will be the end of fortieth journey around our tribe's lands and as ancient traditions state, the armored emissaries of the God-Emperor will come and take the strongest and bravest youths of our tribe to fight in His armies. I will be competing. I have hunted for 6 journeys around the lands and was given the honor of leading a group of other men to strike at the other tribes, to steal women and water. It was a great honor. Tradition also calls for a hopeful to bring the emissaries a totem, to prove their courage. As the second jug fills, I look up, at the fast rotting body of the fang-tooth. The heat and dryness alone would strip the animal of flesh in less than a day, and the stinger-ants, whose bite could paralysis, would cut that time to less than two hours. Smiling to myself, I walk over to the fang-tooth and begin to laboriously cut off its head. Its hard work. The skin is thick, to protect against the searing heat, which had long ago blackened my skin and the neck bone is hard, but flexible. Eventually, I get the head off, and with it tied to my belt, water jugs in hand, I slog through the high sand dunes to my tribes, the Icari, encampment. Usually, we would have left about an hour ago when the sun rose, but not today. This plain, near the sinister Black Rock, was where the God-Emperors emissaries would meet us and take us to the Black Rock.

"Kouri, what happened to your arm" my mother, Yetas, calls out. She's standing in the lee of the tent, out of the harsh glare of the sun, hands on her hips. "And where is your knife?" Without a weapon, a warrior was nothing. My father actually had an autorifle; I think was what it was called, which shot bullets, not bolts or arrows. He left me fire it once. I will never forget that feeling, the kick of the rifle and the burst of blood that erupted from the Terpth tribesman. No arrow could do something like that, no spear either, no matter how hard it was thrown or thrust.

Grinning, I point at the fang-tooth skull as a way of explanation, the broken edge of my knife still visible. I also grabbed a thigh-bone to carve a new knife out of. My mother yanks my web of pouches and bags from my scrawny, white robbed shoulders and peers under the bandage, before glaring at me and forcing me to sit down on the pile of saddle blankets and light sheets that we sleep on.

"You couldn't wait till you're fighting in the Emperors army before you start earning scars." She mutters as she pulls a long, thin tendon and a bone needle out of one of her pouches.

Smiling, my father hands me a black flash, marked with a sword. It was my father's alcohol. I took a pair of swigs, enough to block out most of the pain of my gashes. I nod and hand the flash back to my father. Yetas smacks my face, forcing me to look away and she begins sewing up my arm. Even with the alcohol, it hurts more than anything I've felt. I ended up passing out.

By the time I woke up, the sun was at my back. My father's worried face greeted me.

"Kouri, the emissaries are coming."


	2. The emissaries have come

Heart pounding, I bolt onto my feet, shrugging on my equipment belts and ramming a brand new knife into my sheathe. Glancing down quickly, I flexed my sewn up bicep. It stung like a lash-snake bite but it didn't bleed. I grabbed the fang-tooth skull and strapped it to my belt. My father nods to me and my mother hugs me. No matter what happens tonight, I will never see them again. Tradition states that the hopefuls will go and wait by Black Rock for the emissaries to come. That is were I am going.

Running out of the tent, I dodge through the encampment, trading goodbye waves with friends until I get to Rema's tent. I've killed men without thought and yet, she made my heart pound and my hands sweat. I got tongue-tied every time I talked to her. She smiled at me and I thought my heart was going to burst. Her smile could stop the sun in its path.

"Are you going so soon?" she said softly, taking one of my hands in hers. I thought I had died and went to join our ancestors in the sky.

Swallowing, I managed to nod and mumble a yes. I think it was a yes, at least.

Rema stepped forward, kissing me fiercely, before drawing away, looking at her feet. "I guess you'll want to be going, unless you want to stay here with me." She said demurely, rubbing my hand.

Swallowing again, I pull my hand away and set off towards Black Rock, trying very hard not to think about the very beautiful, and pouting, girl behind me. Joining the God-Emperors army meant more to me than anything else in this world, including women. Thinking of Rema again, I bite my tongue until I taste blood. Damn that girl for messing with my head.

My long strides quickly took me out of the encampment and I set off towards Black Rock, supposedly one-thousand strides in the distance. The monstrous skull begins to weigh me down very quickly and the broken terrain did not help. Coming over one jagged rise, I spy a large group, twenty or more, standing in the shadow of Black Rock. Running now, thinking I was late, I stumble up just as darkness falls. Borsque, the tribe's headsman's son, lights torches and sets them up around up. It got cold, like it always does in the desert and I pull out my long poncho and drape it around my shoulders.

Borsque glares at me and steps up to me, snarling, "Did your father give that fang-tooth head to you?" I grit my teeth in wordless anger, Borsque had everything given to him, and never worked an honest day in his life. Hand on my new knife, I spit back at him, "I killed it, Borsque. What's it to you?" Then, I notice he doesn't have a totem. He'll be after the fang-tooth head then.

"I want it." It was not a question, but a command. The spoiled bastard. Glancing around to see what the odds against me were, I saw that every other boy was on my side, ready to pull us apart if necessary, but stances saying that they would not interfere. I wipe the knife out of the sheathe and slam it into his solar plexus. He did not even move to defend himself. He did not deserve to join the God-Emperors army. He was dead before he hit the ground. Bastard.

Two other boys, Lomas and Hemas, twin brothers, drag his corpse away into the inky blackness. I grew up sparring with them. Neither are my equal, but together, can best any man.

Squatting down to rub the blood off my knife, a fireball rips through the sky, roaring like a sandstorm. Instantly, everyone has turned, to place their backs to the wash of grit the fireball kicks up. I am the first to look up, jaw dropping in awe at what it was. A giant craft, green and red armor glowing hot. It was larger than a sand dune, with long wings, like a sand raptor. Strange pods hung from the wings and from what I took to be the front of the craft.

A hissing, spitting ramp lowered from the rear of the craft and from the smoky, red lit interior, came six huge, bulky, armored figures.

The emissaries of the God-Emperor had come.


	3. The tests begin

Yeah, um, with the weird tense thingy, deal with it. It reads well.

The emissaries looked like daemons, with the red light at their backs and their sinister glowing eyes. I was not afraid, though, and stood my ground, back straight as the wind and dust wiped past me. The other boys have dived to the ground, huddled behind their cloaks, hoping the emissaries will not kill them.

One of the emissaries approaches me. He is in dark green and red armor, with a flaring double-headed eagle on his chest. I am not a short man, but my head only just reaches his chest. In one hand, a strange-looking weapon. The other is empty. When he speaks, his voice is deep and harsh.

"You are the hopefuls, correct?"

Looking around, to see if anyone else would answer, I finally speak to the giant figure. "Yes, yes lord, we are. I am called Kouri."

The figure beckons the other emissaries forward and he speaks again, this time removing his helmet. His face is hard and scarred, with prominent cheek bones and three golden studs set into his skull above his eyes.

"You and the other hopefuls will follow us up to the top of the Black Rock." It was not a question, but a statement, in a tone that was used to being obeyed.

I manage to nod as the six emissaries move past me, surprising agile and swift for being in heavy, bulky armor. I roll up my poncho and kick at the still prostate forms of the other hopefuls, snarling at them, "Get up, you cowards. We are following the emissaries!"

The emissary who spoke to me turns back from his position up the hill, "This is your one and only chance to back out. All who follow us up this plateau will never return to their lives."

I run after him, struggling to catch up with the emissaries, their long and fast strides propelling them up to the base of the plateau. Not one of them is breathing hard. They stop at the base of the plateau. Suddenly, I think, how can they see in the dark? I am carrying torch and I find it hard to see!

The one who spoke with me silently begins climbing the Black Rock and the other five swiftly follow. I can see that one of the emissaries wears white armor and has many strange devices on his belt and in his hands.

Before I douse my torch and begin climbing, I look back and can see about fifteen other youths with me, including Hemas and Lomas. Quickly, I douse my torch and leap onto the cliff, beginning my climb with the howl of the sand-wolf.

The cliff is sheer and rough. I can feel my hands begin to bleed after only a few minutes. What makes the journey easier are the emissaries who have come before me. They have broken hand and foot holds from the rock and I endeavor to use these whenever possible. The climb is still incredibly hard and after at least two hours of climbing, my questing hand is greeted by air. I have made it to the top well ahead of the others.

The emissary laughs, a deep, booming laugh, and says, "Good job, Kouri. Rest for now while we wait for your comrades, you will need your strength for the tests."

The white armored emissary says something to the bare-headed one and the bare-headed one merely shakes his head, speaking softly, as if they did not want me to hear. I hear anyway. "He is strong, he will be fine."

I bundle my poncho around me and use my pack as a pillow. The last thing I remembered before falling asleep was a horrible scream. I guess another youth fell to his death from the cliff. Good, whoever could not climb that is not fit to fight in the God-Emperors armies. I try not to think about how close I was to falling.

I woken what seemed like a moment later, but I can tell from the moon it has been at least an hour. The bare-headed one spoke, "No one else is coming, so let the tests begin." Then, I notice my other hopefuls around me. There are only eight of us now. Maybe climbing the cliff was a test? It does not matter.

One of the emissaries, with a sinister skull-mask and skull-decorated armor, steps forward and began speaking to us.

"I am now as Saul Tar, of the Warhawks Second Company. We are Space Marines, the most powerful aspect of the Emperor's great armies. You are offered this one chance to join us in our quests to spread the Emperors light across the stars. My brothers will be testing your physical and mental strength, but I have a much more important task.' The emissary, I mean, the Space Marine, pauses for a moment, as if trying to build suspense for what he is about to say.

'I have the sacred task of testing your purity and your resolve. Even if you pass the other tests, if you fail mine, you will never become a Space Marine. Are you ready to begin?"

I do not hesitate. I step forward and bow my head and shout, "I am ready to begin."

The fellow hopefuls are quick to follow and the bare-headed Marine points at the fang-tooth skull still at my waist.

"Is that to prove your bravery?" he asks.

I unhook the skull from my belt and place it at his feet, saying, "I slew this fang-tooth yesterday with my knife. I earned this scar from its claws." I point at the stitches on my arm.

The Marine smiles at me and nods at Hemas. The heavy set boy sets a pair of massive fangs at the Marines feet.

"I killed a world-serpent with my spear three days ago." I was impressed with that. A world-serpent could grow to twenty feet long and had quite a powerful poison.

Lomas steps up after his brother and lays a fanged jawbone at the Marines feet. "I slew this sand wolf with my bow six days ago."

The others repeat the process until everyone has gone. The Marine motions us to follow. I guess we all passed the tests.

He leads us to a line of rocks, arranged from smallest, about the size of my head, to the largest, about the size of my chest and stomach. He says, "I really don't need to explain about what to do with these, do I?"

I am the first to step forward again. I easily heft the small rock above my head and drop the rock to sand again. Hemas pushes past me and lifts the rock. The rest repeat the process, until I get to the fourth rock.

As I lift the fourth rock, I can feel my arms shaking and sweat pours from my brow and runs into my eyes. I just barely lift the rock above my head and quickly drop it back to the sand and step back. The fifth will be the hardest.

On the fourth, two boys fail to lift the rock. Lomas was one of them. The bare-headed Marine beckons one of the other Marines. This one has a long sword at his belt. The Marine has to force Lomas and the other boy away. I do not know what happened to them, but the Marine comes back alone.

On the fifth rock, I use my knees and back at first, the thrust up with my hips and force the massive rock above my head. I think something popped in my back. That does not matter. I drop the rock with a grunt and step back.

The bare-headed Marine smiles and nods at me. I nod back. Four other boys manage to lift the rock. The other one's arms buckle and the rock crushes his head. A bit of gray matter sprays across my face.

The bare-headed Marine points at the other Marines, who are standing at various points along the entirety of the Black Rock. I can just make out their shapes in the pre-dawn light. The Black Rock is about one-thousand strides long.

"You will run along the length of the plateau and receive a stick from the Marine at the end. He has three sticks. Whoever does not get a stick will be eliminated. GO!"


	4. The flashback ends as the battle begins

Back by popular demand, another installment of A Recruits Tales. Sorry this took bloody forever (fur immer for you German folks); I had my senior paper and shit to work on.

With the shout of 'Go' by the bare-headed Marine, I leap into a run, trying to ignore the pain in my legs and arms. I can hear the other hopefuls fighting each other to catch up with me.

I fall forward, feeling a sharp pain in the back of my skull, like a needle was punching into my brain.

"Scout-Sergeant Vandius, are you alive?" A harsh voice interrupts my dreams. I see Apothecary Servenus standing just in front of me, his white-armored hands on my shoulder-guards. Memories flood back, and I remember exactly what has happened, causing my anger to rise.

After being recruited by the Warhawks Space Marine chapter, I underwent years of testing, surgery, implantation and surgery to become a Scout-Brother. For five years, I fought as a Scout-Brother, eventually being promoted to Scout-Sergeant before the viscous campaign on Kopal, the world from whence I was recruited.

The foul forces of Chaos had fallen upon the world in a fury and a million people died in a single night of blood-shed and death. When the Warhawks returned for the next batch of recruits, they found what was left of the population in slavery. A crusade to retake the world was launched in an instant.

The First Company descended upon Kopal like a bolt of lightening, but the Space Marine forces bogged down almost as fast. The deserts were of ash, human ash, with piles of bones marking the high ground. The world of Kopal was a grave-world.

Scout-Sergeant Vandius and his squad had been sent way out on the left flank to secure the Black Rock and set up sniper positions there. Except Raptors spotted the scouts and eliminated all but one.

A Raptor had grabbed Vandius by his shoulder-guards and soared towards the sky, more than likely planning to drop Vandius from hundreds of meters in the air. The Scout-Sergeant had different ideas. Vandius had revved his chain-sword to full and cut off the Raptors feet while they were still only twenty meters in the air. Still, that was far for a Marine to fall and Vandius had lost consciousness until Servenus and his body-guard had come searching for the scouts gene-seed.

Servenus helped me to my feet and clasped my shoulders again, saying, "I thought you had been killed and I was about to return your gene-seed to the Chapter!"

"I'm glad you did not, Apothecary. I wish to avenge my brothers' deaths before the day is out."

"Sergeant Vandius, have you taken the Rock?" It was Mepesto, captain of the 1st Company, who had returned the Chapters honor when he hunted down and eliminated the traitorous companies.

"No, Captain, my squad was ambushed by Raptors and we suffered ninety-percent casualties. What are your orders?"

"Servenus, have you retrieved the gene-seed?" Mepesto responded.

"Yes, of course, Captain. I used the opportunity to instruct the apprentice Apothecaries." Servenus's bodyguard was made up of eight veteran Marines who were on their way to becoming Apothecaries. Because Servenus was such a highly-decorated Apothecary, apprentice Apothecaries came from all over the Chapter to train under him.

"The left flank has been overrun by the traitor filth and a large number of traitor Marines and cultists are approaching your position. Do not let the gene-seed fall into their hands before you can be relieved. Expect reinforcements in two standard days. That is all."


	5. Opening shot

Mepesto's last transmission made Vandius's blood run cold. If the traitor scum over-ran their position, were they to destroy the gene-seed? He banished the thought from his mind; the traitorous bastards would never overrun the position. Not if they ascended the Black Rock.

Servenus handed Vandius a trio of weapons, his chainsword that fell from his hands, a bloody bolter and a sniper rifle.

"You'll need these, Sergeant. Now, if you'll follow me." The Apothecary and his bodyguard, who moved as one, strode towards the looming figure of the Rock, some 80 meters in the distance.

The wind whipped across the broken surface of the Rock and lightening flashed across the bruised sky as the eleven Space Marines began to set up their positions, overlooking the route they thought the Traitors were going to take. Information was hazy in that area, orbital sensors were on the fritz and long-range scans relieved nothing. Just an ash storm and plumes of smoke from vehicles destroyed and wrecked on the burning plain.

Vandius was carefully scanning the plain, his eye pressed to the scope that one of his battle-brothers had once carried. He could see nothing. Just swirling ash and dust, more than likely concealing the foe that would soon be hitting the Warhawks flank viscously.

Footsteps to his left caught his attention and the scout dropped the sniper-rifle and had his pistol out in a second. What he saw made his heart soar. Four natives, hardy men who fought for a living.

"Emissaries of the God-Emperor, we would like to fight with you. Thousands of our people have died and we had sworn a blood-feud against the black armored traitors." Spoke a heavily-scarred man in the center. Surprisingly, he carried an auto-gun, with worn web-gear stretched tight across his bare stomach. The other three were also armed the same way. Vandius looked closer at the weapons and saw that they all have sections carved and chipped off of them. They had looted weapons from the Chaos cultists! The scout smiled despite himself. These were his people and they would fight to the end.

Servenus was next to Vandius in an instant. The Apothecaries usually gleaming white armor was coated in a fine layer of human ash. The Apothecary wiped a hand across his eye-pieces and spoke, "Yes, you may fight with us. Set up next to Sergeant Vandius here and watch that location." Servenus gestured towards the swirling dust and ash storm, which loomed ominously in the distance.

Vandius holstered his pistol and lay down, carefully scanning the plain again. There! The dust cloud thinned as the wind died and thousands of humanoid shapes came through the swirling ash. Vandius upped the magnification of the scope and looked again. Cultists. Thousands of cultists and traitor guard. For long minutes, the traitor infantry moved through the dust and then tanks rolled into view. Mostly Chimeras and Leman Russ's, all dabbled in eye-aching symbols and covered in skulls.

What came past the armor chilled Vandius to the bone. Dozens of black armored Traitor Marines. The Lunar Wolves, the Sons of Horus, better known as the Black Legion.

"Brother-Apothecary!' Vandius shouted, 'Confirm presence of Traitor Guard! Possibly four thousand! Confirm presence of Traitor Marines! Possibly in company strength, maybe more!"

"Vandius, what is their range from us?" the Apothecary responded.

"Six thousand meters, give or take. The dust is screwing with the range-finders Machine-Spirits."

"Once they are in range, pick off officers and the like. I have set up six of my apprentices halfway down the slope with grenades. Once the traitor scum close, we will have to keep the Raptors off of them."

"Acknowledged Brother-Apothecary." Vandius wanted to make the Raptors pay for what they did to his squad.

For long minutes, Vandius carefully watched the Traitors approach. After the Black Legionaries, came masses of braying mutants, chained together. After a while, one particular Legionary forced the mutants to the fore, ahead of the Traitor guard. Cannon fodder. The sheer number of mutants was astonishing. At least five thousand, most likely more.

For more long minutes, Vandius picked targets, not even bothering with the mutants, but instead focusing on the Guard and Marine Sergeants and Officers. Here, a half-naked Guard officer with a strange, skull-shaped mark on his chest. Around him ran at least a hundred guardsmen and cultists, all adorned with skulls and blades. Another Guard officer with a Space Marine helmet chained to his waist and a shimmering power-sword in his fist. A Black Legionnaire with a massive banner clenched in his fist and spikes growing from his body. Too many targets to mention.

Then, they were within three-thousand meters, which was the technical range for the type of sniper-rifle he had, but with the wind and other factors, hits at this range would be hard. It was dark now, and even with his occulobe and night-sight, the darkness was a hindrance except when the lightening flashed.

"Brother-Apothecary, the scum are within my range!"

"Make them pay, Sergeant. Make them pay for every Battle-Brother we have lost. Make them pay ten-fold and more!"

Vandius's first target was the Black Legionnaire with the Banner. A trigger squeeze and the rifle smacked into his shoulder. Across the plain, the Legionnaire fell, his throat shot in the vulnerable area between helmet and chest. Except Vandius had been aiming at his hand. Still, one down, twelve-thousand to go.

Well? How was that?


	6. Raptors attack!

So, due to the immense popularity of this story, I've decided to write another chapter before continuing on Custodian. I'd like a lot of feedback on this chapter, if you all would not mind.

Vandius fired the sniper rifle again, and across the burning plain, a screaming, frothing cultist died, his skull blown apart. The scout-sergeant had long cease to count how many he had shot, but it was nowhere near enough. He had been firing for almost an hour, stopping only when the barrel began to overheat, but the Chaos hordes seemed undiminished. His shoulder ached from the stock smashing it dozens of times.

Occasionally, the wind storm would break and Vandius would get a better look at the mass of Traitor Marines, cultists and mutants and each time, Vandius would curse and renew his prayers to the Emperor. The four tribesmen had managed to pile together a rough and crude barricade, and now lay behind it, watching the skies, waiting for what they called, 'Bringers of Death.' Vandius assumed they meant Raptors. Those bastards, he cursed.

Vandius slapped in another box-magazine and resumed his firing. The barrel was so hot, it burned his hands, but he did not notice. A target had stomped out of the sand-storm and whatever it was; it had caught his complete attention. It was about fifteen-hundred meters out, about in the center of the swirling mass of the Chaos attack.

The…thing… was roughly six meters tall, taller than the tallest Marine and armored in the most baroque power-armor Vandius had even seen. Black wings, like a giant bat, sprouted from its back and skulls and spikes adorned every surface. Skulls of men hung from its waist by chains and it carried a massive black sword that drank from the light. Vandius increased the magnification on the scope and almost retched. Thick purple-blue veins stood out of its armor like cables and Vandius realized that the armor was part of its body, even the chest-plate moved with the things breathing.

"Brother-Apothecary, you need to see this!" Shouted Vandius over the howling wind, trying to make his voice carry far enough to reach the Apothecaries position, forty meters away, handing more munitions to his bodyguard.

The Apothecary hurried over to Vandius's position, his head bent against the wind, ash still coated all over his armor.

"What is it, Vandius?"

"See for yourself, Apothecary." Vandius handed the sniper rifle to Servenus and pointed towards the monstrosity.

The Apothecary carefully raised the rifle to his shoulder and stared into the scope for a long moment, the barrel slowly moving, indicating he was trying to get visual lock. The barrel stopped suddenly and held immobile for minutes. Finally, just as Vandius was starting to get worried, Servenus spoke, his voice harsh.

"It is a Daemon-Prince."

"I do not remember that in any briefings, Apothecary. You will have to explain it to me."

"Only on the condition that after this mission, you will subject yourself to ritual-cleansing, for any knowledge about this topic is strictly forbidden."

"Of course, Apothecary." Vandius looked back over the plain. He could easily see the thing now, but no one was in firing range yet.

"When a Champion of the foul Chaos gods earns enough power and recognition, they are given gifts, usually daemonic in nature. The mightiest of Champions have numerous of these gifts, and they are called Daemon-Princes."

"Emperor help us." Vandius muttered, retrieving his rifle and settling back into his firing position, as Servenus walked away, saying, "Emperor help us indeed."

Vandius carefully targeted the Prince, settling the cross-hairs on the behemoths neck, figuring to distract with a brutal wound, then follow through with a shot to the head and chest. Vandius squeezed the trigger and the rifle bucked. Across the plain, the bullet struck something, mere centimeters from the Daemon-Princes neck. Something rippled, like water hit with a pebble, across the Princes body. Some kind of force-field, cursed Vandius, killing the Daemon-Prince would have been a major blow to the Chaos forces.

However, the shot did not go unnoticed. A piercing cry that chilled Vandius to the bone came from the thick cloud cover above them. The tribesmen next to the scout-sergeant began to chant their war-cries. The Raptors had finally come.

Vandius barely had time to stand, draw his chainsword and pistol and brace himself when the Raptors emerged, in a great black flock, all baroque armor, weapons and malice. There were at least forty, at least more.

The four tribesmen had already opened fire; their auto guns pointed almost vertically, spent casings flying. Vandius added his bolt pistols fire to that, and in the ten seconds it took for the Raptors to land among them, the combined fire brought down three.

Vandius blocked a chop with his squealing chainsword, sending metal teeth flying and rammed his bolt pistol in the Raptors stomach and clamped his finger on the trigger, blowing the guts out of the Chaos bastard.

The scout couldn't see any of the tribesmen and assumed they were all dead and that he was on his own until Servenus came to his aid. Vandius spun and slashed the legs of a Raptor that had its back to him, cutting through the thinner armor on the back of the knees and sending the Raptor to the ground.

"Apothecary!" screamed Vandius over the cackles and taunts of the Raptors, who had taken off, circling the lone scout. The four tribesmen were indeed dead, but had managed to slay two of the Raptors. Seven of them were down.

Vandius could see Servenus running towards him, unseen by the Raptors. His power fist was on and crackling and his golden bolt pistol was out. The Raptors were only two or three meters off the ground and Servenus jumped just a little, so he could strike from above. The power fist did not so much as kill, rather it pulped. The first Raptor did not even see the blow coming. With a crack like thunder, the fist struck the Raptor on the back of the head and traveled down, shattering the upper portions of the Raptors chest and back plate, liquefying the upper organs in a sizzle.

Vandius took the Raptors momentary confusion to resume his attack, before they could shoot him down. Except one did, aiming at his knee. The bolt penetrated the scout's weaker armor and blew out his knee, pitching him to the ground, to land face first in the sand.

The scout rolled, ignoring the pain in his leg and tried to free his sword from the thick sand as a Raptor swooped down upon him…

* * *

Cliff hanger! I leave you all to think about what happens for a while. 


End file.
